


On Your Left

by ladydeathfaerie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, Nightmares, Sam's coping mechanisms, mentions of death (minor character), mild hints of PTSD, the start of a beautiful friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8364883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydeathfaerie/pseuds/ladydeathfaerie
Summary: Two tours of duty as a pararescue have left their scars on Sam Wilson. In order to live and function with his emotional wounds, Sam's developed a simple coping method. After a particularly bad night, Sam resorts to said method to clear his mind. Imagine his surprise when it results in new friends and, ultimately, a new purpose in life.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trovia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trovia/gifts).



> written for Trovia for the third round of the Marvel POC fanworks exchange, who wanted something involving Sam Wilson. i hope you like what i came up with!

The night air is warm as it blows across his face, bringing with it the scents of sand, spices, and unending summer. These are the nights he lives for, when everything is calm and serene. Its almost like the world doesn't exist beyond the edges of his sight, like there is nothing more than the here and now. He can almost believe he is the only person on Earth. It is always an intoxicating, and frightening, feeling. The feeling never lasts, though, and these nights are few and far between. Because the real world always invades the dream and brings him back to the truth. 

"Sam. Riley. You're up." Their captain's voice cuts across his thoughts and Sam is once more back in the desert, in the middle of a war zone, getting called up for another rescue mission. "Get your gear on." The two of them nod silently and head to the tent that holds their things.

Gearing up is ritual now. The two of them have done it so often that they don't even need to think about the steps. They just do them. Riley sends a grin Sam's way as he's securing his pack in place. "You got another package today. Cookies from your mom again?" Its plain to hear the unspoken question in Riley's voice. 

"Pretty sure they're cookies from Mom. I haven't had a chance to open the box yet," Sam replies, bending to tighten the laces on his boots. "And I'm also pretty sure, if they are cookies from Mom, that there's a container of cookies in there with your name on it. She's pretty much adopted you into the family. That means you have to come to Thanksgiving dinner when we finally get stateside. Christmas, too. She won't let you out of it."

"Aw. I'm touched. You tell your mother about me," Riley teases, forcing Sam to turn a mock look of horror his friend's way. 

"Keep it up and I'll tell her we aren't partners anymore," Sam says. Riley's look of fear is genuine. Sam gives the other man a smirk as their hands methodically check and re-check all of the buckles and belts and straps that come along with their gear. "More cookies for me." 

"You wouldn't do that, Sam. That's just cruel and unusual punishment," Riley returns, putting just a hint of a pout on. "Your mom makes the best cookies in the world. It would be torture to withhold them from me." 

"I know," Sam replies. Which is exactly why he made the threat in the first place. 

By then, they've made sure their gear is properly secured and they're ready to proceed. The captain is waiting for them when they step back out into the warm night air and he spends several moments going over every last detail of their mission, including exact location and just how many injured they're going to be evacuating. The captain gives them coordinates and vitals and anything else he has that he can give them. Anything that will help them complete their appointed duties as quickly and quietly and efficiently as possible. As with any mission, Sam and Riley are attentive and serious. Lives depend upon them and the clock is ticking.

The briefing takes no more than five minutes, but it feels like an age when lives are on the line. After ensuring neither one of them has any questions, that he hasn't missed some vital piece of information, the captain sends them on their way with a quiet "God speed, soldiers, and good luck." Then Sam and Riley are airborne.

There is something freeing about soaring through the night, hundreds of feet in the air. This is one of the things Sam enjoys about his duties, about his chosen path in the military. The air is harder up here, somehow hotter. It slaps him in the face and makes him feel alive. It tugs at his clothes, pushes him up while trying to pull him down. It buoys him, comforts him. He knows the man flying just a few feet to his right feels exactly the same way. It is one of the many reasons they work so well together. And one of the many reasons Sam considers Riley more than a friend. He sees Riley as his brother and there is no one in the world he'd rather be partnered with.

Even though he and Riley are up high, the scents of warm sand and fragrant spices follow after them, as if trying to convince them to come back down to earth. It is a comforting smell, but Sam doesn't let it distract him from the details of their mission. He doesn't let it draw his mind away from locations and injuries. He knows that a ground team is already en route to their destination, but he and Riley will be able to arrive first and begin administering first aid to those who need it.

As with other missions, there's little talk between the two of them. There's no reason for it. Not anymore. They'd been partners for so long, done this so many times, that they practically know what the other is thinking. Its comforting having Riley at his side, shadowing his every move. Occasionally, one of them will point to something on the ground that they'll discuss later. Some small grouping of homes that indicate a tiny village, where lights shine soft and golden on the sandy ground. Some times, they find possible hostiles trying to hide amongst the dunes and send the location back to base so that their ground troops can look into it. Determine if they are actually hostiles and cut off any possible attack that might occur.

But tonight, like most of their missions, their flight is quiet and peaceful. No possible hostiles. No tiny villages. No signs of life. It allows him to take some pleasure in the solitude. These are the occasions he hopes to remember most when he's finally stateside. Being high up in the sky, his best friend at his side, simply enjoying being alive. Enjoying the beauty of the world. Enjoying the easy companionship he has with Riley. 

Of course it hasn't always been this way. They got off to a rough start, he and Riley. Ruffled each other's feathers, as it were. It took a while for them to get to know one another. His first thoughts of Riley were that the other man was cocky and fool-hardy. Riley used to think Sam was an arrogant, annoying shit. They both still think those things about each other. But those thoughts are tempered now with time spent together. With shared experiences. With witnessing the horrible things that human kind can, and will, do to one another. 

Sam has never met someone more dedicated to helping others. There's a seriousness to Riley when they're out on a mission that stays hidden under his cocky attitude, one that only Sam and a handful of others generally get to see. Its there now, visible in the way Riley holds himself even while in mid-air. There's a tension around his eyes, hidden by the goggles he wears, and his mouth that give away how focused he is on saving lives. Sam can't say whether he likes this serious version of Riley or if he's more partial to the cocky bastard that comes out when they're on the ground and among others. 

As if he realizes that Sam is staring at him, Riley turns to flash him one of his grins. Its a grin Sam has seen Riley flash a thousand times before. Filled with certainty and arrogance. Sam answers with his own grin. 

Time slows down to a crawl. 

He sees the bright light, moving fast as a summer storm over the plains, as it shoots up into the air right for them. Sam barely has time to form the words in his head when the RPG finds its target and slams full speed into Riley. The world stops turning as he watches Riley falter, then begin to lose altitude. Sam screams his friend's name across the comms, frozen in mid-flight as the other man's limp body tumbles back toward earth...

Sam jerked upright in bed, the rest of the nightmare cut off before he was forced to relive it all. Again. Sweat had beaded up on his forehead and across his torso, and tension ached between his shoulders and behind his eyes. His lungs ached and his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. It was always like this after one of his nightmares. 

He scrubbed at his face, dug his knuckles into his eyes painfully in an effort to stop his brain from revisiting painful memories. He didn't like it when he dreamt about Riley. Every other time he'd done so, something big and upsetting had happened in his life. Like some kind of weird omen. 

The sound of the clock ticking as that tiny little arm worked its way around the numbered face slowly worked its way into his ears, helping to push the painful edges of the dream back. The soft whir of the fan's blades followed, then came the distinctive noise of tires clutching at the road. Bird song was last, pulling his attention to the window across from him. He could barely make out the thin crimson line edging the horizon that told him the sun was getting ready to come up. 

A glance at the clock told him he could sleep for a little while longer. That wasn't about to happen now. Better to get up and face the day than willingly invite the nightmares back for an encore performance. 

Sam climbed to his feet and stretched, worked the kinks out of his spine. Tried to begin pushing the memories back into the dark corner where he usually kept them locked away. But they didn't want to go, clung stubbornly to the crevices in his grey matter. There was no way he'd be able to get through the day if he had to constantly shove down his own personal version of Hell. He'd had days like that before and he knew there was no possible way to function with Riley's death playing through his brain over and over again. 

A faint sense of panic tried to well up, that same feeling he'd gotten when he'd come back to his senses and tried to make a dive for Riley. Even though he'd known that he'd never catch him in time, that there was no use because Riley was already gone. Sam knew well enough what that panic meant. He'd been there before. If he didn't get himself back under control, and soon, he'd spiral downward into a dark pit of self-recrimination and cloying depression. It was a pit that was hard as shit to get climb up out of. He should know. It had taken him months to climb out of it before. And it had been the worst period of his life when he'd been caught there, a dark time that he never wanted to repeat again. 

He was never going to fall into that pit again if he could help it. 

Sam knew what he had to do. He had to act, stop it in his tracks. Already he could feel the shaky feeling brought on by the panic. His mind spun back to all of the counseling he'd gone to, to each and every session. His therapist had pulled the story of Riley's death in slow, painful increments. Oh, she'd had the official account of what had happened that night. She'd gotten all of Sam's personal memories about that mission so she'd had a more complete picture of what had happened. Just talking about it with her had put Sam in that place. He could feel himself teetering on the edge even now. 

It had been his therapist who had come up with the solution. Such a simple act that he'd have never thought of it himself. Something physical, she'd told him. Something to help redirect your mind, bring you back from the dark thoughts that would leave you curled in a ball and screaming in despair. She'd told him it didn't matter what physical activity he chose, just something physical. Something that he had to think about, even if for only a little while. Eventually, she'd assured him, it wouldn't even require thought, that whatever activity he chose would soothe him without his needing to think about it. 

They'd talked over his options for one whole session, worked out the pros and cons of everything that had been suggested. Finally, in the end, Sam and chosen jogging. He'd figured that the constant rhythm of one foot in front of the other, of drawing a breath in deep before pushing it out, would help bring his mind peace. That it would give him something to do that would help control the dark thoughts and the pain of long held memories. She'd agreed, said she thought he'd picked a good coping method. 

She'd told him it wouldn't happen overnight, that it would take some time for the jogging to have the desired effect. But he'd see a difference, she'd promised. In time, he'd find that jogging would ease the ache in his heart and help put the memories back where they belonged. Damned if she hadn't been right. 

Sam stripped his pyjama bottoms off, put on clothes he could work out in. Something he could sweat all of his worries and fears into. He'd started thinking of it as a way to rid himself of those feelings, that he'd get rid of them when he threw his clothes in the washer. Sweatshirt seemed appropriate, given the circumstances. Running shorts, socks, cross trainers. He grabbed his keys and let himself out of his house before starting out on his morning run. 

His feet pounded the ground, miles falling away behind him. The rhythmic slap of his shoes against the pavement helped see the nightmare memories fall away from his brain. Sam fell into his run, his motions becoming more and more fluid as he left the darkness of that night behind him. 

He followed his feet where they took him, making his way along the streets of DC without any rhyme or reason. The sun climbed up over the edge of the world, slowly turning the sky soft shades of pink and gold as it chased night back behind the world for another day. Edged out the night terrors that had woken him. Drove thoughts of death away until all that remained were the good memories of Riley and the friendship they'd shared. 

The first time he heard feet behind him, he was just passing the Jefferson Memorial. He shifted accordingly when the runner let him know where he was and only barely made note of the man as he sped on past. He heard them a second time, along with the same warning, and felt a hint of annoyance touch him. The third time he heard those feet, that annoyance deepened and blossomed. He turned to look over his shoulder. "Don't say it. Don't you say it!" 

"On your left!"

"Come on!" Sam growled. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Riley's laughter echoing. He would find something like this amusing. It was the same kind of shit he'd have done, had he still been alive. The laughter intensified. 

_Okay, Riley. I get it. I get it. Thanks._ Sam knew a hint when he saw one. There was only one thing to do now. 

He put on speed and gave chase.


End file.
